Silver Screen
by shewhodanceswithsquirrels
Summary: She was still as gorgeous as ever, same emerald eyes, thick, dark, red hair halfway down her back. I would have bet my entire fortune that she still smelled like flowers and bed. Don't ask how one smells like bed, she just...did. And it was amazing.
1. of Embarrasing Situations

**This story was written as a part of a contest kinda deal through the DG Forum which you should check out if you're a huge fan of Draco/Ginny. **

**This was written for scuburang's second prompt.  
**

**Chapter one. Of Embarrassing Situations and Old Friends **

**X**

I hate doing this.

I know I look ridiculous, yet this is the _second_ time this week that I have gone to the currency exchange in Diagon Alley. It is utterly embarrassing for these people to know that I, Draco Malfoy, am going into the muggle world - for any reason. I hold onto the hope that maybe they just think that I'm going on some kind of important business meeting or something of the sort; I think I would die if they knew the real reason I needed to exchange my money.

Truth be told, my ventures into the muggle world are not even business _related_, they are purely personal trips taken for . . . wait for it, here comes the scandal . . . entertainment. I know, I know, how insane that the richest, most eligible young bachelor in the wizarding world is spending his time alone with popcorn and a coke in a scarcely populated theater watching moving pictures made by muggles.

I know that what most people think when they see my picture on the cover of a magazine (yet again), they think I live the lavish lifestyle that the interviewers project that I live. Yes, I do own several estates and, yes, I host many parties and charity balls and, yes, its true that I own half of wizarding London; but rather than allowing me to live the life of constant partying and "living it up" as many of my other high society friends, all this does is inhibits me from having any life at _all. _

While my young friends inherited their money just as I did from old money, they are content with letting their Gringott's account remain stagnant. The system of our class of people is very traditional and most do not break from it: you inherit money, you spend the money, but the money never runs out because there is a steady source of income from the businesses that have been in the family for hundreds of years.

However, I am an ambitious sort and I was not content with this stagnant account. So, instead of sitting back and letting all of my affairs be handled by lawyers and accountants and the like, I threw myself into the mix, learning everything about everything I had inherited. Then I started investing. As a result, I now own over half of London and was crowned, by Witch Weekly, the most eligible bachelor in Britain. I'm handling it all very well, I like to think. I mean, if you don't count alienating all of my friends for four years and not having a girlfriend last longer than two dates in four years.

It is a combination of the both of these two that cause me to be found walking from the park where I apparate to the muggle theater a few blocks down. For four years I was working on making money and I didn't have much time for my friends. Now that I've got the situation under control, I find that many of my friends are completely different people than they were back in Hogwarts. I can't say as I didn't expect it, I mean, I'm rather different as well, but I do find myself getting rather nostalgic about all the fun times we used to have together.

That is not to say that I never see them anymore, in fact, I just attended a party on Blaise's yacht about . . . oh, wow . . . now that I think about it, that was over a month ago. Sigh. I suppose that is why, yet again, I am hanging my head in shame as I tell the high school girl behind the counter that, yes, I only need one ticket and yes, I am aware that it is a Friday night and no, I will not be joining anyone.

For christ's sake what's with these people?

I stand in line for-fucking-ever to get my regular sized popcorn with extra butter and extra salt and a large Coke. The cashier asks me if I would like any candy and as I ponder this, a group of high school kids walk by. The girls all look at me and giggle and whisper; the guys glare at me meaningfully. I politely tell the cashier that I would forgo the scrumptious looking candy in favor of a larger size of popcorn and raise an eyebrow at the group.

The girls all blush and the boys are starting to sneer. Jesus. What is this?! I'm twenty two and here I am, alone on a Friday night playing games with a group of kids five years younger than I. Good Merlin, I am pathetic at times. I shake my head and pay for my snacks and head into the theater of the movie that I don't even know the name of.

I usually sit in the back. Its a bit darker back there and I can sit and hide and pretend that it is not ridiculously pathetic to be all alone on a Friday night. The movies I had watched so far had been alright; I only saw one that was worth mentioning (and I definitely wasn't going to mention that I go watch muggle movies to anyone) but I still give any movie I go to see the benefit of the doubt. Seeing as how I didn't even know the name of the movie I was currently about to watch, I had no feelings about it whatsoever, it was just another way to pass the time.

The movie began with a song that I could have sworn was by the Weird Sisters but I was immediately distracted by a laughing group of kids entering the theater late. I scowled in their general direction and, as my luck would have it, it was the same group of kids that had been staring me down in the lobby. I rolled my eyes and then they were headed up to the row right in front of me. Fuck. Now I was going to have to listen to them talking and being obnoxious. And oh how right I was. I honestly don't understand muggle teenagers. Why come to a movie and talk the entire way through it? Couldn't they see that there were _others_ in the theater, _trying _to watch it?

But there was hardly anything I could do as I couldn't threaten them or take out my wand, so I resigned myself to glowering at them and "accidentally" casting tongue twister spells on them. Childish, I know, but what can I say. It wasn't until one of them made a comment about the gorgeous girl on screen that I actually started watching the movie.

"Holy shit. Look at the girl in the back ground," one of the kids said to another one.

"The blonde?"

"No! The other girl, the one playing with a pencil," the same guy said in the most obnoxious voice imaginable. However annoying his voice was, his comment engaged my curiosity and I directed my attention to the girl he was talking about.

"The redhead?"

"Yeah, that one."

I looked at the red head and my mouth fell open in shock. There, on the screen, was the last and only girl I had ever had a relationship that lasted longer than a month with. There, on the screen, was Ginevra Weasley.

My mouth fell open in shock and I could hardly breathe. The girl was still as gorgeous as ever, same emerald eyes, thick, dark, red hair halfway down her back . . . I would have bet my entire fortune that she still smelled like flowers and bed. Don't ask how one smells like bed, she just . . . did. And it was amazing.

In a second, I found myself being swept back into memories of the days that we had shared together. The glorious year that we had spent in each other's arms. It had been my last year of school, the Golden Trio were gone and in their absence, the littlest Weasley was in need of new company. Not that she didn't have friends, Ginevra was never without a small group of people who adored her, but I believe with the absence of the excitement of the adventures that the Trio and herself often found themselves in, she became bored. I was the solution to such boredom. Gods I missed that girl like no one would believe. She was, in part, most of the reason that I had thrown myself so thoroughly into work as soon as I earned my NEWTS; I had wanted to be distracted.

The movie was better than most; as it turned out, Gin was the main character. She fell in love with a guy and then towards the end she gave herself to him. The scene had been incredibly erotic, she had been nearly completely unclothed and he had touched her, and kissed her. I have to admit, I got a little aroused (much to my embarrassment) but the feeling that controlled most of my mind was anger. Angry that some man, probably a no good muggle, was touching her in ways that I still dreamed of; angry that she was letting him; angry that she was touching _him_ in the same way.

I wanted to leave. I wanted to walk out of that theater and never look at her again, but I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I sighed to myself then. By lack of all mercy from any god that might exist, I still loved the god damned vixen that broke my heart when I was 18.

–

"No. I absolutely refuse."

"Oh, come on! You said you wanted to start hanging out again, what would it hurt to hang out with a girl on your arm?"

I had contacted my best friend (well, he had been my best friend years before) Blaise the day after I saw the movie with _her_ in it. I was in desperate need of distraction and it could not be found in work anymore, now that I did it so easily. We were currently out for lunch at some club he belonged to eating very creative creations that I am quite certain came from a caterer that I own.

"I just don't want a relationship right now," I said.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at me over his glass of champagne. "Who said anything about a relationship? Look, one of the girls I'm dating has a friend who's looking for a good time. She doesn't want anything serious and she's hot. Just one night. Look at it as payment for all these years you've ignored me," Blaise said suavely. I had to admit, the boy had charm and a way with words; a talent we had shared since before we had gone to Hogwarts.

I glared at Blaise. He was right; I had ignored him for several years and our friendship had not been the cheap fake kind that one finds between most people in our high society. Our friendship was rare and I had royally screwed up. "Fine," I said sulkily.

Blaise grinned and downed the rest of his champagne. "Excellent! We're going to meet at my place at eleven and apparate together because we're going to some new club that's opening tonight." Blaise stood and so I followed suit. "It's good to have you back, Draco," Blaise said sincerely.

I smiled and we shook hands in the incredibly juvenile way that we had invented first year with two focus movements and a flourish. Then Blaise grinned and dissapparated. Hopefully this would work as a distraction, because for the third time in the two days that I had seen that movie, I had to quickly go home and er . . . "relieve" myself of all these thoughts of _her_ lying nearly naked on a bed . . .


	2. of Clubs and Girls

**Chapter Two: Of Clubs and Girls**

**-**

I felt like I should be nervous; but the only feeling I could muster was weariness. It had been a long day and I really would have rathered to stay at home watching the new Clive Owen flick.

Wince.

This muggle movie thing was really starting to be a problem. It was a good thing I never had anyone over to my town house or they would see the 36" plasma on my wall complete with "cable" and a DVD player. I shook my head. Enough of that. No sense regretting the purchase, it _was_ a beautiful invention, after all.

I couldn't stay home, though. This new club that Blaise had been talking about just so happened to be a club that _I _owned and I really needed to start making appearances at these opening things. I looked at the clock on the wall. 11:01. Night. I sighed, took one last glance in the mirror to check that the bags under my eyes were hidden and dissapparated to Blaise's manner.

–

"It's about time!" Blaise greeted when he opened the door.

I shot him a weary half smile and followed him inside. "Are _your_ girls here?" I asked, emphasizing that they were _his_ girls, not _mine._

Blaise laughed; he knew. "Yeah, they're in the lounge. Don't be so . . . dreary. It's only one night," he encouraged with a grin.

I gave a sardonic smile and he winked as we walked into the lounge. There were two girls sitting, chatting on the couch. They both looked at me with what I suppose were supposed to be sexy smirks, but the end result looked more ridiculous than sexy. However, that might have just been an effect of my cynic outlook that I had on most girls since _her._ They both stood and Blaise stood in the middle of us.

"Draco, this is Dahlia. And this is your date, Ambrosia," Blaise said, nodding to the girl on the left.

She was pretty enough with blonde hair and eyes the kind of green you see around Easter, I think they call it pastel. She barely came up to my shoulder even in her heels but she was slender and she more than made up for her lack of height with her bust.

"Hiya," she said quietly. Not the shy kind of quiet, it was the annoying kind of quiet that girls do on purpose to make you lean in closer to them. I usually just ignore them when they pull that.

"Hello," I replied cooly, inclining my head in her direction. I stared into her eyes, maybe there was some intelligence there that she was just hiding . . . Nope. None.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Draco," she breathed, holding her hand out to shake.

"The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure," I said smoothly, bending over her hand and brushing my lips against it. I felt her pulse quicken. I had been raised a gentleman and gods be damned if I would forsake my manners just because this girl was only as deep as a sake cup. I stood and Blaise was grinning at me.

"Are we ready to go, then?" he asked.

I nodded a very defeated nod and we all linked arms for the sidelong apparition we were using. We arrived at the designated spot across the street from the club. The que outside of my beautiful club was backed up several blocks and the sight brought a genuine smile to my face.

Blaise looked at the club thoughtfully. "I really should have thought this one through," he said, cocking his head slightly to the left.

"Why?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't really know anything about this place, I didn't think to contact the owner to get on the VIP. Club Tangent, then, everyone?" The girls shrugged discontentedly; I smirked.

"Blaise my dear friend, I know you are very well known and all, but _I_ -unlike you- not only am well know, I _know_ everybody as well. I'm sure we can get in."

"Show off," he muttered good naturedly.

I grinned and took special pleasure at the shocked looks on my companions faces as we walked to the entrance, nodded at the bouncers and walked right in as if I owned the place, no pun intended. I almost started laughing at my own thoughts. Luckily, I kept it to myself.

"You just walk in everywhere like you own the place?" Blaise asked.

I smiled fondly at the dear boy who was voicing my own thoughts. "Yes, I do tend to do that when I _do _own the place," I said, projecting an offhand manner whilst secretly watching them through my peripheral vision. I was rewarded with slight admiration from Dana and Amber, or whatever their names were. I must say, I am a sucker for any opportunity to show off.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I should have know. Was there, at any point, any thought in your head to let us know that you owned it?"

I shook my head with a purposefully blank smile. "Nope."

"Whatever. Do you have a table?"

"I'm sure I do somewhere around here . . ."

And so began a long night of glaring at Blaise each time Doris or Allie opened their mouths to speak, fun moments with Blaise when the girls left for periods of times, making fun of the girls with comments that were above their head, and, of course, dancing.

Now, I don't mean to brag, but I'm an amazing dancer. For some reason, I was just blessed with this ability to read bodies and move accordingly. So, naturally, I like to dance. This does propose a problem at times, however, because my ability to move as sexily as I do results in masses of girls wanting more than just dances.

So when the night was over, my dance with Alexis moved from the club to my town house. Blaise had just left with Danielle so it was really down to me to make sure she got home. Or somewhere she could sleep. I was buzzed but Alice didn't drink (on account of "That stuff is _so_ harmful to your, like, body") so I had to apparate straight into my bedroom so she wouldn't see the_ television_ . . . wince.

She was staring at me meaningfully. This was bad. She obviously wanted me, but she was sober, which meant I would have to _woo_ her. Blanch. But, she was my date, and I'd be damned if I didn't get any after suffering through such a terrible night. So I walked slowly towards her and tipped her face up with a hand. I looked at her but she tipped her head away.

"Will I see you again?" she asked woefully.

Fuck. One of _those_ girls. "Do you want to?" I asked, hoping against hope for an answer I knew wouldn't come.

She looked back up at me pathetically. "I don't want to do anything that might compromise my virtue . . . unless you would be willing to uphold my honor."

I almost snorted out loud. It may sound unbelievable, but it can be hard for us wealthy men to get a simple shag. Most good looking but financially unremarkable men will go somewhere, flirt with a girl, go home together and that is that. But wealthy men, such as myself, can not just find a girl and take her home. When a woman sees a wealthy man is interested in her, she, all of a sudden, has some huge sense of honor and virtue. Sure, they may have gone out the night before and slept with a stranger, but if they know who you are and they know you're rich, you won't get away with it that easy.

You see, women have this card that they can pull out at any time. The Virtue Card. And when they want a relationship with a man, they can trick him into staying with them by not putting out until he agrees to something serious. This is true of the majority of women, not just the high society bitches that I am usually around. A less financially remarkable woman wants a man of my stature to fix all of her problems. High society women are even worse, though. These women were _trained_ to ensnare men. They are born and bred to be classy and marry a rich husband. They are taught no remarkable skills or how to live alone, they're main goal in life is to ensnare men like myself into marrying them. It's a disgusting habit.

I, myself, have never been caught in such a trap. I have seen many of my friends almost fall victim to these traps set by them, but so far only two of them have been completely hoodwinked into marriage. Poor Crabbe and Goyle, they really were stupid. Sigh.

Alas, I had to give the girl an answer that she would believe meant that I intended to carry on a relationship with her. "Darling, I would never do anything that would put a mark on your flawless virtue. I don't want to do anything you are uncomfortable with," I whispered, mentally crossing my fingers that this would work.

"Really?" she breathed.

In my head, I did a victory dance. Score another one for Draco! Even high society bitches trained to lure me into a marriage can not withstand my charms and follow their duties! Ahem.

"Of course," I whispered back. And then she was taking off our clothes and we were on the bed.

-

I woke up in the morning nearly suffocating from Andrea's hair smothering my face. I looked over at her. Her makeup from the night before was smeared all over her eyes and . . . and on my brand fucking new cream satin pillowcases! The bitch. I glared at her, though she couldn't see, and sat up. I groaned and swung my legs off the side of the bed. I needed a shower.

When I got out of the shower and dressed and ate a bowl of cereal, she was still asleep in my bed. I definitely did not want to do the morning after scene with this woman; I needed to find an excuse to leave. Actually, it had been quite a while since I had visited my mother. . .

I walked to my bedroom and grimaced at the sight before me. Andrea was spread eagle on the bed, her hair frizzy and everywhere, her mouth hanging wide open mid snore. I crept up near the side of the bed, bent over, poked her shoulder and retracted my arm to my body as if I might contract a deadly poison if I lingered too long. She didn't move.

"Hey," I said, poking her and retracting again. Again, no answer. I sneered. God damn it. Why did this always happen to me?

"Hey!" I said, a bit more forcefully, poking a bit harder and retracting faster.

She moaned a bit and rolled over. She opened her eyes sleepily towards where I should have been on the bed. She sat up in shock when I was not there and then turned quickly to the side of the bed where I stood.

She exhaled a bit, in relief, I think. "Good morning," she whispered, sending a coy smirk up to me.

"Er, Morning," I said, shifting my eyes. "Look, I've got to go visit my mother . . . very important that I don't miss it . . . don't want her to be angry with me and all that," I said spacily, focusing intently on not shifting my eyes.

She looked at me almost sadly; I almost felt bad for her. "That's so sweet, Draco," she beamed.

I exhaled. Thank god that was over. "Well. Alright then. I, er, have to be going now. Feel free to, er, use the lavatory or get yourself some food," I told her uncomfortably.

Contrary to popular belief, I did not take pleasure in kicking girls out of my bed so rudely. Like I said, I almost felt bad for her even. But I'd rather feel a bit guilty than put up with one of these high maintenance girls. That's what I had always loved about Ginny, she was so straight forward, she wouldn't dream of playing these games women play nowadays.

"Um. Okay. When will I see you again?"

"I'll owl you, I promise," I said, flashing my, literally, award winning smile (thanks to the readers of Witch Weekly) at her as I headed to the door.

"One more thing, Draco," she called just as I stepped into the hallway.

I poked my head back into the room. "Yes, love?"

"What's my name?" she asked, narrowing her eyebrows.

"What kind of question is that?"

"I didn't think of it until just now, but you've called me nothing but darling and love and honey since we met. What's my name?" she asked, blinking once.

I smiled. "It's Aurora."


End file.
